The Occupied Parking Spot
When I received a call from the babysitter Gloria, I was in the conference room finalizing the last version of the contract with a client.
On the phone, Gloria's voice trembled as she said Nancy's fever was nearing 40 degrees Celsius and she had started convulsing.
The pen in my hand fell onto the table with a snap, cutting the client off mid-sentence.
"Sorry, my daughter is in trouble. The assistant will follow up with you about the contract."
I grabbed my bag and rushed toward the elevator, my heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.
My mind was flooded with the image of Nancy this morning when she left; she hugged my neck and said, "Mother, come home early tonight," even slipping a candy into my pocket.
Driving home, I ran two red lights in a row and shut off the navigation alert that said, "You are speeding."
I bought the underground parking space with my apartment in the residential community three years ago, but for the past three years, it's basically been my cousin Sunny Scott's.
Sunny Scott lives in the same residential community as us. She said her parking spot is far from the building entrance, so she parks her old electric scooter in my parking space every day.
I kept in mind that she is my dad's cousin's daughter and married far away, so I felt bad arguing with her and just endured it for three years.
Before, I would just drive around looking for a public parking spot, but not today.
Nancy is still waiting at home for me. Every second wasted puts her life at greater risk.
I drove into the underground garage and sure enough, saw Sunny's electric scooter parked across the middle of my space, with her son Yale's school uniform jacket draped over the seat.
Without thinking much, I turned the handlebars and pushed the electric scooter to a nearby empty spot, then carefully parked it in the parking space.
The scooter was still running; I opened the door and rushed upstairs.
The elevator numbers moved as slow as a snail; I stamped my feet anxiously and finally decided to take the stairs.
The door wasn't fully closed. I pushed it open and immediately heard Gloria crying.
Nancy lay on the sofa, her little face burning red, eyes shut, with her small arms and legs twitching from time to time.
"Mom..." She heard the noise and barely opened her eyes, her voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz.
I quickly picked her up; her body was burning hot, and tears immediately streamed down my face.
"Nancy, don't be afraid. I am taking you to the hospital right now."
I held her and rushed downstairs. Gloria shouted behind me, "I'll grab Nancy's medical records," and ran out after us.
As we reached the bottom of the stairs, a sharp smell of gasoline hit me.
My heart sank as I looked toward my car—flames were already bursting out of the windows, thick black smoke billowing and clouding the air around us.
That was the first car I bought after ten years of hard work, scrimping and saving.
I had told Nancy before, once she got better, I would take her to the countryside to see the rapeseed flowers.
Neighbors gathered around, taking photos and whispering. Someone spotted me, pointed, and said, "Isn't that the car owner?"
I held Nancy tightly and rushed over, only to see Sunny Scott standing not far from the car, holding an empty gasoline can, smiling.
"Sunny! Are you insane? Why would you set my car on fire?"
I was trembling with anger, and Nancy, in my arms, started coughing from the smoke. I quickly shielded her close to me.
Sunny Scott threw the gasoline can onto the ground with a loud thud.
"Crazy? Wendy Lincoln, you're the one who's crazy! I've been parking in this spot for three years—it's mine. What right do you have to take it?"
She stepped in front of me, her eyes full of defiance. "I'm going to burn your car so you'll know what happens when you steal my things!"
I wanted to shove her and argue, but Nancy whimpered softly in my arms, so I forced myself to suppress my anger.
"Sunny Scott, I can buy another car if it gets burned, but Nancy has a high fever right now. She's your niece. Let me take her to the hospital first."
I was practically begging her, but she just smiled even more smugly.
"What's so bad about a high fever? Kids get fevers all the time. My Yale once had a fever of 39 degrees, and I didn't even take him to the hospital, and he was fine."
She turned her head and called out "Yale," and her son Yale ran out from the crowd, hiding behind her.
Yale looked at Nancy in my arms and smiled, saying, "Auntie, is she turning into a roasted sweet potato?"
That sentence felt like a knife stabbing straight into my heart.
I couldn't hold back any longer and was about to rush forward to hit Sunny Scott when my parents-in-law suddenly arrived and stopped me.
Father-in-law pulled me away roughly, standing protectively in front of Sunny Scott. "Wendy Lincoln, what do you think you're doing?"
Sunny immediately put on a hurt expression, her eyes red as she said, "I was just joking with Wendy."
"What kind of joke burns a car? Dad, Nancy still has a fever. Can we please take her to the hospital first?"
I held Nancy tightly, on the verge of tears.
But mother-in-law came over and slapped me without warning.
A sharp sting on my cheek flared up painfully with a "smack."
"If you hadn't insisted on going to work and neglecting the children, would Nancy have gotten this sick?"
Father-in-law added, "Look at Sunny Scott—she stayed home with the baby right after giving birth, and Yale is so healthy. But you're always focused on making money and can't even properly care for your own child!"
Sunny Scott fanned the flames from the side: "Wendy, don't be upset. Why don't you take Nancy home first? After I take Yale to piano lessons and come back, I'll go to the hospital with you."
I looked at their cold faces, and my heart turned as icy as stone.
Nancy twitched again in my arms; her breathing grew even more rapid.
"You won't let me through, huh? Then I'll go on my own!"
I held Nancy, pushed past my parents-in-law, and ran toward the entrance of the residential community.
Cars kept rushing by on the street; without a car or a taxi, I had no choice but to kneel down in the middle of the road with my child.
"Please, someone—anyone—take my daughter to the hospital! I'll pay you whatever you want!"
I knelt before the passing cars, pounding my forehead on the asphalt—pain numbed me as blood mixed with tears streamed down my face.
A car pulled over, the window rolled down to reveal a young couple.
The girl saw me like that and quickly got out, pulling me up. "Get up, it's too dangerous!"
The boy said, "Get in the car, we'll take you to the hospital."
I got in the car holding Nancy, endlessly thanking them.
Inside the car, Nancy's eyes squeezed shut, her breathing growing weaker.
"Nancy, don't fall asleep. Mom's here, we'll be at the hospital soon."
I pressed my face to her forehead, tears soaking her hair.
The boy drove recklessly, running through several red lights.
When we reached the hospital entrance, I didn't even have time to ask their names before rushing into the emergency room holding Nancy.
"Doctor! Doctor! Please save my child!"
The medical staff took Nancy and rushed her into the resuscitation room.
I stood at the door of the resuscitation room, my legs gave way, and I collapsed to the floor.
Gloria came over, steadied me, and said, "Wendy, don't worry, Nancy will be fine."
I don't know how long I waited, but finally, the light from the resuscitation room went off.
The doctor came out, and I rushed forward, grabbing his white coat. "Doctor, how is my daughter?"
The doctor sighed. "The child's life is saved, but..."
He hesitated, and my worst fears started to take hold.
"The prolonged high fever has damaged her auditory nerves permanently. From now on... she may never hear again."
"If you had arrived just half an hour earlier, there might still have been a chance."
Those words struck me like lightning.
I fell to the floor, my mind utterly blank.
"No... it can't be. Doctor, please find another way. She's only four; she can't lose her hearing..."
I grabbed the doctor's hand, bowing my head again and again until blood started to seep from my forehead.
The doctor helped me up, his voice filled with helplessness: "We've done all we can."
After saying that, he left, leaving me alone in the hallway, crying.
When Nancy woke, the ward was very quiet.
She opened her eyes, looked at me, and quietly asked, "Mom, why can't I hear you talking anymore?"
I held back my tears and grasped her hand. "Nancy, it's okay. Mom will teach you to read from now on. We can write to communicate."
She nodded, then reached under the pillow and pulled out a small music box—that was the birthday gift I gave her last year.
"Mom, give this to Yale. He likes it, and I don't need it anymore."
I held her, crying so hard I couldn't speak.
Sunny Scott, Mike Carter, and the parents-in-law—whatever you owe me, I will take it back.
I started looking for evidence, determined to make Sunny Scott pay for what she did.
I first contacted a lawyer, who said we needed proof that Sunny Scott had deliberately set the car on fire, preferably surveillance footage.
Many residents in the community had private security cameras, so I went door-to-door, knocking.
"Can you check your surveillance footage? It was yesterday afternoon, downstairs at Building 3. My daughter fell ill and my car caught fire..."
But no one wanted to help me. Some even slammed the door, saying, "You're that woman who neglects her child and now wants to blame others, right? Don't bother me!"
I'm sure Sunny Scott and Mike Carter are behind this.
Mike Carter is my husband, but ever since Nancy got sick, he barely ever went to the hospital. He still went to work every day, as if Nancy wasn't even his daughter.
I sat on a bench in the residential community, nearly broken, when suddenly I remembered something—yesterday after I parked, I hadn't turned off the engine.
My dashcam is connected to the internet; as long as the car is on, it uploads footage to the cloud in real time.
I quickly took out my phone and logged into the dashcam app.
The progress bar slowly filled, and my heart was pounding in my throat.
Finally, the video started playing—Sunny Scott carrying a gasoline can, walking up to my car while cursing, and then flames suddenly burst out.
Then there was footage of me holding Nancy, pleading for her to move.
The evidence is found!
Holding the video, I returned home.
The parents-in-law and Sunny Scott were in the living room, and Yale was playing on my tablet.
"Sunny Scott, what do you think this is?"
I threw my phone onto the coffee table; the sound from the video was clear and unmistakable.
Sunny Scott's face changed instantly, but she quickly regained her composure. "It's just a video, isn't it? Who knows if you made it yourself?"
Mother-in-law chimed in, "Wendy Lincoln, it's just a car. It's insured. Why do you have to hold Sunny Scott responsible? Do you want her to go to jail? Will that make you look good?"
"A car? Mom, Nancy is deaf, did you forget? She blocked me from taking Nancy to the hospital!"
I was trembling with anger. "I've already called the police. They'll be here soon."
At that moment, Mike Carter came back.
He didn't even look at me. He just sat down on the sofa, grabbed the remote, and changed the channel. "Nancy ended up like this because of you. And now you want to blame others?"
"Mike Carter, are you even a man? Nancy is your daughter! Sunny Scott burned my car, delaying Nancy's treatment. Can't you see that?"
I pointed at Sunny. "She's the one to blame!"
Mike Carter stood up and slapped me. "Shut up! Sunny will never hurt Nancy. It's your own fault for not taking care of her!"
I covered my face and looked at the man before me, suddenly feeling like a stranger.
This is the man I married, Nancy's father.
The police arrived, but Sunny Scott claimed the video was forged by me. My parents-in-law also sided with her, saying I've been mentally unwell lately and often rambling.
Without evidence, the police had no choice but to leave.
I know this path won't be easy, but I won't give up.
I moved into the hospital, staying with Nancy every day.
Nancy is so mature. Even though she can't hear, she tries to read my lips and communicates with me by writing in a notebook.
"Mom, the nurse gave me candy today. It was strawberry flavored."
She wrote the words in her notebook and handed it to me, smiling.
I gently touched her head, my determination growing—I would make those people pay.
That afternoon, I was telling Nancy a story when the ward door suddenly slammed open.
A group of people in white coats stormed in, holding restraints.
"It's her—Wendy Lincoln!"
I turned and saw Mike Carter and the parents-in-law right behind them.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Mike Carter sneered, "Wendy Lincoln, you're mentally ill. I'm sending you to a mental hospital for your own good."
My mother-in-law cried, "Everyone, look! She hits people and smashes things at home every day, and even tries to hurt Nancy. We had no choice but to do this!"
Patients and family members nearby gathered to watch. Someone whispered, "So she really is insane..."
I tried to explain, but the doctors in white coats rushed over and grabbed my arms.
"Let go of me! I'm not sick! You're slandering me!"
Nancy was terrified and cried out, clutching my clothes: "Mom! Mom!"
"Mike Carter, let me go! You can't treat me like this!"
I struggled desperately, but their strength was overwhelming.
One of them pulled out a sedative and injected it into my neck.
My vision blurred, and I heard my parents-in-law's voices near my ear: "What are we going to do with this little deaf girl?"
"Throw her out on the street. She's not even one of the Carter family."
Then came Nancy's heart-wrenching sobs: "Mom! Don't leave!"
After that, I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was in a strange room.
White walls, white sheets, and the air was thick with the smell of disinfectant.
This is a mental hospital.
I grabbed every nurse and doctor who passed by, pleading, "I'm not sick, I've been wronged, please let me out!"
But they just looked at me coldly, and someone said, "Everyone here claims they're not sick."
I was placed in a four-person ward.
Madam Duncan, in the bed next to me, held a rag doll every day, telling everyone it was her daughter.
At night, she would quietly climb into my bed, her thin, bony hand touching my face: "Baby, I've been searching for you all these years..."
Madam Lee, in the bed opposite, sat facing the wall every day, silent.
But sometimes she would suddenly snap, scratching the wall with her nails, making a piercing sound, then turning to stare at me: "Next will be you, next will be you..."
I couldn't sleep at all; every time I closed my eyes, I saw Nancy being thrown onto the road.
I dreamed she was crying, looking for me, then getting hit by a truck...
Every time I jolted awake, I was drenched in sweat.
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